The Ungrateful IndependenceWanting Brats
by chanchi76
Summary: In the middle of the 19th century, a new nation commonly known as Mexico faces even greater problems than Spain when his troublesome siblings decide to demand independence after listening to that useless American.
1. The Republic of Texas

He didn't know how long it had been. He remembered when that child (no—scratch that), that _brat_ came into existence. It was before he even achieved independence from that tomato-loving bastard (not that he could say anything against tomatoes. Heck, he even used them occasionally in his meals).

And when the tomato-loving bastard finally gave him independence as well as his sweet and innocent sister…and The Brat. It was something he really didn't like about that little decision. He wished Spain could have just kept him. Who really cared if the idiot kept a bunch of his land granted at independence?

The boy was a skirt chaser. Obviously Spain had spent too much time with that wine and roses freak. The blonde's personality was rubbing off on the child badly. Like he couldn't see the boy 'playing' with his younger sister 'oh so happily'.

Okay. Fine. He was probably overreacting. It was just so _darn _FRUSTRATING. By that, he meant the fact the boy was starting to spend more and more time with that _absolutely_ frustrating freak-that-demanded-independence-and-got-it-by-kicking-England's-butt. He didn't even have a real race. What the heck was an American? His people were a bunch of immigrants and children of immigrants. Nothing new there.

But he was getting off topic with his rants here. Back to that brat.

That brat was now declaring independence from _him_ of all things. Him and his people (who were part of that fake American race). He allowed him to bring in American settlers for a sum of money. But then he got witty and decided to allow that blasphemy to happen.

By that blasphemy, he meant _slavery_.

Mexico was quite sure his bosses had written that into his constitution—no_ slavery_. What in the world made that stupid piece of land mass think his people could own others? And that gave him the right to declare independence and raise his own flag of red, white, and blue?

Luckily, none of his other territories had decided to rebel up against him. Those other two areas could be put down easily; they didn't really count for that matter. They had no help anywhere. But that stubborn rancher. He was getting aid from the large country gone north.

He knew that Doctrine protected him from any further colonization from Europe, but did that apply to the less civil nation? He was _this_ close to invading.

But no worries. He'd deal with the threat later. For now, his eyes were all on that independence-wanting territory. That brat. If he allowed the brat to become independent, he'd never hear the end of it.

He had to protect the girl from that mess the boy—brat—created. No way in hell would the younger territory be dragged into this. She was too young to start a rebellion on her own, but as the way things were going now, it looked pretty darn close. She was just _way_ too close to that Texan when he was still in their house.

Dammit! Dammit to hell!

He was on a roll right now. There was no stopping his lack of manners now. Not that he had any anyway. Spain had reluctantly allowed him independence, and the rest of the older nations were now considering him on the same wavelength as the America, except quite a bit younger.

The same wavelength as that moron. Back when they were all in Spain's house (along with the tomato-loving Italian) they all laughed and cheered when England went down. They (along with almost three quarters of the world) fought on the side of the Americans. They raided and sunk English ships in the waters surrounding the small island country.

The American opened pathways for other countries. Never before had they seen a nation fight off their mother country for independence. It was the first of its kind…and now this was the third (Canada did not count) fight for independence in North America.

Texas. He allowed him to bring in Americans into his territory for more money (seriously, his treasury needed it). The Americans violated his "no slavery" and "be one with Mexico" deal and warped the rancher's mind.

And now said rancher raised his own flag to be called the Republic of Texas. That flag was probably made of pants and sheets, where he got the blue and yellow, he had no idea (stained it maybe).

That bastard. Not only did his boss send soldiers over there to reclaim the territory (and have their butts kicked by that madman Houston), he was now having to deal with the Americans themselves.

The immigrating Americans were new to war. They didn't have any battle experience. These were farmers and settlers from the Midwest, the people too poor to live in the larger and more populated areas of the eastern United States. It was embarrassing to struggle against them.

The Alamo. Goliad.

No problem there. His army slaughtered the rebels. The new sovereign nat—no—rebellious territory, glared at him and spit at his shoes. There was a fire in his eyes that reminded him of his independence days against Spain.

They had both refused to give up.

The Texans' small army had been reduced to almost nothing. The only thing in his way of bringing the rebellious territory back under his control was that troubling Houston.

The boy was reduced to tears after the massacre of his people. His tearful words still haunted him in the late hours.

"_Why? Why?"_ the tears poured down his cheeks and onto his bloodstained shirt. He had lost about 600 people at once, most of them executed as prisoners for treason. _"We just wanted to be separate from Coahuila. Just separate. With our own capitol. Why must you do this?"_

The American responded to his cry for help. He escalated the war, and soon the rebellious territory was demanding far more than his separation from his sister state. He wanted to be his own nation. A nation on its own.

With aide from the American, he quickly turned the tide of the war. They met at the River San Jacinto after several scattered bloody battles. His boss had decided to rest, realizing the Texan's army was far too small and outnumbered to take them on.

Mexico didn't blame him for being tired. He still didn't blame him after he witnessed what happened next.

His army was completely overrun. Once he knew the battle was over and his men lost the will to continue the battle, he was prepared to surrender.

But the rebel didn't stop there.

He could see the Texan on the hill. He knew he could see him too. He knew the battle was over and his men worn.

But he didn't stop.

There was rage in his eyes. Rage and revenge were burning behind his dark brown eyes. He wanted revenge for all his men. All the ones he ordered to butcher after they surrendered. The Alamo. The Goliad. All the small campaigns at the beginning of the war. Slaughtered mercilessly.

And surrounding Mexico—his elder brother—he could see more than enough men to fulfill his revenge.

More than enough to equal the pain he felt after the battles. More than enough to double his guilt.

More than enough to pay.

"_You BASTARD!" _his scream split the still and silent air after the battle. He had been reduced to nothing on the dusty ground. His blood soaked the thirsty soil around him.

Men were lying all around him. All dead.

The brunette didn't even move when his older brother scrambled up and ran at him, a loaded gun from one of his soldiers lying dead in his hand. He brought the rifle down at him first, but the Texan blocked it with his own rifle. He parried each attack the larger nation gave to him until Mexico had the end of the gun pointed between his eyes.

"_Are you going to shoot me?"_

The battle at San Jacinto had been decided. The Texan had only lost nine of his people in the decisive battle. Mexico had lost most of his army sent over to stop the rebels. Americans were cheering across the border. America himself was dancing along with his people in the streets.

He hesitated, a few tears slipping down his cheeks as he cried for his people. His finger was on the trigger. The Texan wasn't even moving. He just narrowed his eyes at him, daring him to shoot.

He started pulling the trigger back. The Texan still didn't move.

He was going to kill his younger brother.

"_NO!"_

Something smashed him in the stomach, throwing him backwards and onto the ground. But he had already fired his rifle. His shot echoed through the silent battlefield.

"_No."_ He lifted his head and saw a smaller brunette looking at him, tears in her eyes.

"_California."_ He mumbled, looking at the child.

"_Don't kill Tejas. Don't kill him, hermano."_ He looked into her watery brown eyes. She whimpered her fists balling up on his uniform. She pressed her face against the bloody cloth and started crying.

"_Don' touch 'im. You'll get dirty," _He saw hands reach out to take the small girl away from him.

"_Don't touch her!"_ He didn't even know his body could handle another outburst. He didn't realize what power he still had in his beaten body.

He drew the smaller territory in his arms and held her tightly against his chest, glaring at the offending rebel.

"_Don't touch her."_

He would never allow the offending rebel to touch his precious sister. Precious California. She was the most loved out of all his states. Spain had seen something in her too, and when they were all colonies under his house, he showered her with attention.

It wasn't the amount of land they saw in her. Texas had more land than she did. It was her _personality_. She had fertile land—beautiful land. Lots of nice people. The ocean was breathtaking where she lived. Her personality was shaped with all this surrounding her.

He remembered Spain bringing her home after he found her on one of his voyaging trips. She looked so small and innocent in his arms.

Even now, when she started growing up, Mexico—and Texas (he grudgingly added) had seen her.

She was still pure.

Which was why he had to protect her from her brother's bloodthirsty nature. He murdered his people, demanded independence. Worse yet:

He allowed the enslavement of others.

Once he healed, he was getting that rebellious teen back into his house. Even if he had to drag him back screaming. Even if he had to wound him so badly he would never heal. He was going to bring him back.

And he was going to beat some sense into that boy. And make it _hurt._


	2. The Republic of California

Of course, it wasn't like he wasn't expecting it. That damn American was involved again. He came over and started filling her thoughts with all of this independence trash.

It was as if Texas wasn't enough. The American walked in spewing his nonsense about Manifest Destiny, freedom from dictatorships and wrongful rulers.

_Dictatorships?_

Who was the nation that just stood by and allowed his people to fight over the usefulness of others?

He and his explorer traveled many miles to her. They falsely accused _him_ (of all people) of hindering her growth. Blocking her right to freedom. They highly encouraged her to fight for the freedom she was born with.

He always thought she would ignore them and their worthless talk. But maybe he _had _been too rough with his states ever since Texas declared independence.

He still had plans to take the rebellious territory back. He refused to acknowledge the existence of a republic called Texas. In his eyes, Texas was always his little brother, his _hermano_, _Tejas_. There was no way he was joining that American.

Of course, things just _had_ to work in that American's favor.

Britain and France showed up everyday at his doorstep, counseling him—urging him to give up Texas. Texas was now an independent nation; he had diplomatic ties with three of the largest (most influential) countries in the world.

He easily ignored England, as the small island was having a border dispute with both him and the American. For the last time, he had the _most_ land in the Oregon territory. Britain held a sliver of the north and the American had a quarter to the east.

He threatened the Northern nation. Threatened them with war if at the _slightest_ chance of seeing him annex his little brother.

It wasn't looking like the Texan was helping either. But it wasn't like he could just walk over the border and kick the boy in his vital regions even though he wanted to (he would get shot). So he just left the Texan to spew his nonsense.

America's (numerous) bosses seemed unsure of the situation. With Mexico (and his bosses') constant threats, they didn't seem to know which direction to take a stand on.

Well, okay, then. They weren't arguing about _Mexico's_ thoughts. Even though Texas was quite clearly, _Mexico's_ territory. Never mind that he wasn't involved in diplomatic ties with _his_ _own_ territory.

They were worrying about slavery.

Oh pity them.

Especially when his first (and most important) declaration for the American settlers was no_ slavery_. Oh how he hated that American.

-----------------

Now it was war the two nations were in. Texas had been annexed by the US. Annexed. Taken in. Taken over. It didn't matter what terminology he used. He still hated it.

Texas, was by right, his. Spain had (reluctantly) given him up after the Mexican Independence. The territory had no right to up and walk away from his United Mexican States.

_United_ Mexican States.

He hoped the American was ready for war. A _Civil_ war. His people were not pleased with the Texas Annexation issue. They liked the more land issue, but not the problems that came with it. Let them have the psychotic Texan militiamen haunting their dreams at night, he could let that go. Slavery too. They could take that to their country's grave.

And the war they were in now? He'd take back Texas. Whip slavery out of his system and stop the American from taking his states.

As for the war...He swore it was the American that toed the border first. He_ knew_ his borders. He would never step onto American soil. It would dirty his boots, the land was that soaked in blood.

He only fired the first shot because he saw the US Army toeing the border, taunting him on _his_ land.

It gave him every right to attack.

The American was calling foul. _The Mexican started the fight_, he said.

Uh-huh. Sure. Damn funny. He had little America dummies set up in his backyard and shot at them every morning as a wake up call for his men.

-----------------

He was going to ring the neck of the person (a certain blonde actually) that was the cause of this. He could see another informal flag flying over his territory, _again_.

That was _definitely_ not his flag. And it wasn't the American's either. Meaning one thing...

And who was raising said flag? California. His _hermana_. She had grown since the Texan had declared independence and moved out of his house. Grown to the size of an average teenager.

She raised the flag in the _middle _of the war and declared independence from him. Where was the sense in that?

Of course, she didn't even know a war was going on. News traveled very slowly to the West. It wasn't like he was keeping tabs on her every move. She was living in her actual home, and he lived in his. Newspapers were slow in reach to her too.

But she still declared independence from him.

She called herself the Bear Flag Republic. The Republic of California. There was practically no violence involved with her independence. She captured and held prisoners all right, but nothing happened to them. His military officials stationed in _Alta California_ were watched, but not killed. It was a peaceful independence.

But independence was never peaceful. She held her independence for nine days.

And then America came in and took her over.

Serves her right. Well okay, it wasn't really her fault at all. It was mostly his--the American's. There was no way _he_ was admitting to starting the war. He didn't. America's boss did. Sent the army to toe the line.

Yes. That was exactly how it happened.

Now he could see the revolting stars and stripes flying through his bedroom window. His men retreated out of California fearful of the American's influence in the area. He couldn't even leave his house and go visit California, as it _didn't belong to him anymore_.

Says the American.

War was never a peaceful thing with him. He was never going to catch a break from it all, was he?

-----------------

The treaty was humiliating. He had to surrender most of his land to the triumphant American. He surrendered _two-thirds_ of his lands to that dratted American. Directly by his side for negotiations was the rebellious Texan, no longer an independent nation (Thank GOD) and his beloved California. She looked at him, though not sneering at him like her brother was, her eyes large and empty. She held the American's hand tightly throughout these negotiations. He hoped the American would take care of her.

She was definitely returning to him if her economy sunk lower than the Americans. If her people were subject to a war they didn't believe in. If the American people started forcing her natives off the land like they had done earlier.

Yes. This was not the end of his troubles to the American. Whoever was the American's enemy now, was his best friend.

It wasn't only those two he lost. He lost some other no named lands (they _had _names. He just never bothered to learn them. They were pretty much empty anyway) in the treaty along with those two.

He promised the American never to try to invade Texas again. Never to try to drag the rebellious territory back (he was now considered a state much to his dismay) to his house.

That of course, went to California as well (no violence pact. He gave the American credit for thinking that one up).

She betrayed him at the very end, choosing to stick with her American brother. He figured it suited her wild nature anyway. She was starting to become more and more difficult to handle as she entered her teenage years.

His relation with America was supposed to get better. After all, he just (was forced to) _gave_ his land to him. The land the tomato-loving bastard had granted him had been reduced to half.

He no longer had the fun-loving California or the violent but kind Texan (well…he was always kind to his sister) in his house. Not even the small territories he had never bothered to learn their names. They were small—too small to remember much of him (save they once lived in his house), but they were never going to grow into adult (or teenaged in California's case) states under his flag.

Damn that American. Always ruining things.


	3. The United States of America

_Ding-dong. _

"All right, all right! Ah'm comin'!" the male state hollered from the top of the stairs.

_Ding-dong._

"Dang it! Didn't ya hear me!" he continued to shout as he scrambled down the stairs, his boots thudding on each wooden step.

_Ding-dong._

"Oh for the love of ole' Betsy!" he seized his rifle lying by the door and yanked it open. "Ah won' hesitate ta shoot!"

"_Teexaaasss niii-chaaaan!_" a very high-pitched and _very_ obnoxious voice screeched and he was instantly knocked off his feet as the energetic woman threw herself at him.

"Augh!" he felt the back of his head hit the end of some random object especially hard. Thank God he inherited Spain's hard-as-hell head when he was born. The possessive Italian said enough insults to the Spaniard to make his skull as tough as diamond.

"It's been awhile since I've seen you!" the female state sat up beaming. He was momentarily stunned by her white teeth and the shine that came with it. He knew there was just some poor animal—whether they be in the room or out the window—that was blinded by her dazzling smile.

"California." He groaned and got up into a sitting position (or tried, as his dominating sister was sitting on his legs).

"I haven't seen you after the Mardi Gras celebration!" she declared, slapping her fist into her palm, narrowly missing her brother's nose.

"Ya celebrate Mardi Gras?" he asked, stunned by this new information. He hadn't heard of the Western state doing that before. All he knew was that Louisiana partied morning and night for _weeks_ on end. That was when he moved into either Arizona or New Mexico's house. He could tolerate the poisonous rattlesnakes and crazy as hell roadrunners for a few weeks.

"Now I do!" she chirped and swung her arms up into the air. This time she hit the tip of his nose with one of her hands and he groaned.

"Cali…Cali be a sweetie…" he groaned, rubbing his nose with one hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked, leaning forward until her forehead was touching his. He didn't feel like telling her how awkward her position was to him.

"Ya…ya on mah vital regions… an' it _hurts_…" she looked down in surprise.

"Oh." He sighed in relief when she clamored off him, and quickly adjusted his belt until it was comfortable again.

"Soooo…." He looked up at the Californian, who looked slightly flustered after realizing she was straddling her brother. "Who's Betsy?"

"Huh?"

"You yelled, 'for the love of ole' Betsy'," she struggled with her impersonation of the rancher. "Who's Betsy? Your long-lost lover?"

"Cali, yer mind has been in those ole' Western movies for too long. Ah do _not_ have a long-lost love."

"Who's Betsy then?" she smiled and leaned closer. To save himself from Virginia's constant hissing of '_incest!' _at the meetings, he leaned back.

"Ole' Betsy's mah cow," the Texan got up and picked his hat off the ground and dusted it off. "Ya interrupted mah mornin' routine."

"You have a morning routine?" she asked interestedly, springing off the ground quickly--her dress flew up in a very unwomanly way.

"Yeah," he grabbed his rifle and opened the door. "Was jus' gonna water the cows an' feed the chickens."

"You water cows like grass?" his sister put a finger to her chin, thinking hard. The Texan sighed in exasperation. This is what he got when he let her hang out with the American for too long. His stupidity and lack of common sense was rubbing off on her.

"Give em' drinkin' water. Fresh _drinkin' _water," he waved a metal pail full of chicken feed in front of her face for emphasis. "And whatcha' doin' over at mah house so early in the mornin'? Ya always sleep in." He started throwing it in handfuls, and chickens poured out of the henhouse at the sight of the yellow grains.

"America called. He wants us to go visit Mexico."

The Texan yelped and threw the bucket of feed harder than he needed to at his chickens, causing them to go flying in a flurry of feathers.

"What? When?" he cried out in annoyance as he went to pick up the bucket and calm his agitated birds.

"Oh…" the Californian put a hand on her cheek and thought. "In about an hour."

This caused another ruckus in the chicken pen as he aimed his shock at a rooster trying to sit on his boot. Hens scattered when the flying rooster shot at them.

"An' ya jus' decided ta tell me this NOW?" he demanded, his hat flying off, as he stomped towards her, booting any unfortunate bird that got in his way. "Ah still gotta git dressed an' everythin'."

"You look fine to me," Cali cocked her head and gave him a confused look.

"This is mah farmin' clothes, Cali!" he burst out. "Ah'll jus' haveta call in mah ranchhan' ta finish the job."

Cali watched as her brother stomped up his front porch and slammed the door shut. The screen door shook on its hinges before falling off the door completely and collapsing on the porch. She heard Texas swear from the second floor.

-------------

"All righty then, Cali. Why does the high an' mighty 'merica want us ta visit Mexico? It's not even his festival time." The Texan righted his hat after retrieving it from the chickens and the pair started walking off his ranch. "An' yer not dressed for occasion."

"Yes I am!" she protested. "I'm wearing a dress, aren't I?"

"That's—fergit it," he sighed, turning away, lowering the hat's rim over his eyes. He didn't want to tell her that a plain blue sundress (showing faded marks from the sun) wasn't going to cut it in a meeting with another nation.

Honesty, the woman was getting as rude as America when he visited the world meetings. Eating hamburgers and drinking soda when he talked, wearing that stupid bomber jacket…

"America said this was fine," she glanced down at her dress again.

"This is 'merica, we're talkin' about," he groaned. "'merica with no sense of decency."

"He has a sense of decency," she protested.

"Yeah. When mah back is turned," he scoffed. His sister shrugged and started skipping away from him. "Can't bring mah rifle either. Might haveta use it ta git what Ah want from the damn mariachi."

"Texas, come on! Stop mumbling to yourself!" Cali shouted. "You're going to make us late!"

"Make 'us' late," he continued to mumble, not bothering to pick up his pace. "The birdbrain gave us last minute notices. Like that ain't a reason to be late."

"Texas!" the girl wailed. "Come _on!_ I bet he's waiting already!"

With that, she ran over and grabbed the Texan's arm, and (ignoring his protests), threw him in a fireman's lift (an awkward position to say the least) and ran to her car parked outside his ranch sign.

-----------------

"Ah can't believe ya!" the rancher groaned, his had lowered over his eyes. His hyperactive sister smiled at his embarrassment.

"About what?" she asked.

"Ya know damn well what!" he yanked his hat off and glared at her. The Californian laughed in amusement. "Ya picked me up and ran ta the car!"

"America said that I shouldn't be afraid to use my strength!"

"Are y—Are ya serious!" he shouted at her, his anger clearly expressed in his blue eyes. He threw his hat on her dashboard. "Ya could have given one of mah neighbors a heart attack! They seein' a fine woman such as yerself doin' that to a grown man! That's not one of the sights people wanna see!"

"I'm grown up too!" she exclaimed. The Texan shook his head in disbelief.

"Where is this meetin' anyways?" he gave up arguing and threw his feet up on the dashboard, taking his hat before his boots touched it.

"In Arizona," she laughed. "That's why I said to hurry!"

"Y-ya fool!" he panicked. "Arizona's _two_ states away, idiot! How do ya think we'll git over there in time? Don't we only have one hour!?"

"America taught me how!" she replied, a strange glint in her eyes.

"Oh hell no, lady!" he shouted, not liking that look at all. "Ah ain't havin' this! Ya pull over and let me drive!" He threw himself over her, grabbed her left wrist and stamped his foot on the break before she could even hit the accelerator harder. The car screeched to a halt in the middle of the (empty) highway.

"Aw Tex, you know I love you. You know I'll never do anything to purposely hurt you," she coaxed, trying to pry his right hand off the steering wheel.

"Yeah, an' Ah love ya too. Which is why Ah'm so damn worried," he hissed, tightening his grip on her wrist. "Ah ain't havin' Mexico have the time of his life seein' ya kill me."

"I won't kill you," she promised.

"Sure. Mah gut instinct says other—gah!" he wasn't prepared for his sister's next move. She let go of his wrist and grabbed the collar of his shirt, lifting him up to her eye level. And with strength that would have matched the stupid American, she yanked him forward, pressing her lips against his.

There was an immediate lapse in time as the Texan relaxed and his fingers slowly slid through her long hair.

He was so lost in the moment he didn't feel (or didn't bother to respond to) her take one of his wrists and pull his arm behind his back.

A second later, she pushed him down on the seat until she was on top of him again. She was holding both of his arms above his head, and he didn't seem to care he was acting submissive.

"Hah," she murmured softly, breaking away from him. "Works every time."

His eyes widened as he became fully aware of what she had done.

"CALI!" he screamed. She started laughing and got back into the driver's seat. "CALI, GIT ME OUT OF THESE THINGS NOW!"

"No, you'll just get in my way," she pushed his legs off her seat.

"Damn you Cali!" he twisted menacingly until he was finally sitting upright in his seat. The cold metal of the handcuffs cut into his skin painfully. "You just wait until I get out of this!"

"Hey, your accent's gone!" she turned in surprise. "So it really was fake?"

"It ain't fake!"

"Could've fooled me," she grinned and slammed on the accelerator.


	4. The United Mexican States

He was standing in front of Arizona's capitol building in Phoenix, his arms crossed and his legs spread shoulder width apart as he waited the arrival of his other two (rebellious) siblings.

And he finally saw them—or saw their car really. They were driving at speeds deemed unsafe for the streets. He was just wondering why Texas wasn't driving when the car screeched to a stop dangerously close to him.

What had that American been teaching his younger sister?

He could see his younger brother through the windshield, completely red and screaming. It was strange how he couldn't see the man's hands at all, and in addition to that, he seemed to be sitting an awkward position. Too awkward for his former state to say the least.

The awkward position was quickly explained when California stepped out of the car.

"CALI, YOU GET ME OUT OF THESE!" he blinked in surprise, and when that didn't solve anything, he blinked once more.

Did his former state just lose his accent?

His sister (and the American) had been going on and on about how the Texan's accent was fake. He hadn't believed them up to now.

"Hi!" the woman ran up the steps and embraced him (much to his embarrassment) and kissed him on the cheek. He still wasn't used to these American customs.

"What happened…" he looked at the fuming man in the car. His English still wasn't that good (his refusal had been in part because of his hatred of England when he was still under Spain, and the American) and he had only been learning it through the meetings he had with other English speaking nations.

"Ah, Tex? He didn't want to let me drive over here, so I handcuffed him to his seat," she grinned. "Oh, and guess what? Guess what?"

"What?" he asked warily. Yes, his younger sister did remind him of a certain blonde.

"Tex's accent really is fake!" her smile was blinding him and he vaguely wondered how much toothpaste she used each morning.

"We should…get him out…then?" he looked at her questionably. He saw her sigh and her shoulders slump. And that one hair that she inherited from the American (he didn't know how or when) slumped as well.

"Fine, fine, fine," she walked back to the car, taking _much_ longer than necessary.

-------------------------

"All right, will somebody tell me what the meetin's for?" Texas demanded when they all reached the meeting table in one piece (the handcuffs left bright red rings around his wrists).

"Now that I heard him swearing earlier, it really does sound like his accent's fake," Nevada smirked. Texas gave him a murderous look, which quite plainly said, '_yer _damn_ lucky Ah didn' bring mah rifle ta shoot ya with_'.

Mexico sat at the head of the table, looking at all his former states. Well, they were only two of his former states. The only two states he lost were California and Texas; the other American states were once part of them.

It had been awhile since he saw them last. All together that is. He'd seen California and Texas on separate occasions, but there were some states he'd never seen before.

Nevada. Utah. Colorado.

This was the first time he ever laid eyes on them. He listened to his sister loudly complaining that she had lost most of her land, so he figured some other American state had taken it away (it never occurred to him that they probably were at least one of the 50).

Nevada looked like Cali's twin. They shared the same blue eyes (the American's influence) and the brown hair. Their hair was sleek and silky, not at all curly or ragged like his or Spain's.

There were differences though. Nevada dressed to impress, while the Californian threw on anything that was washed. Despite that, Mexico definitely decided the two were twins.

Colorado…Colorado was blonde with blue eyes, the only way he was able to tell she was once partially his was her darker skin, not as dark as his own, but lightly tanned.

It was the Frenchman's influence.

Utah. Looked. Like. No. One.

He was surprised by this. The entire state of Utah once belonged to California, he was supposed to look like her and Nevada. From his relations with other countries, he placed the boy's looks between the American and his brother, England (or was it the UK?). But even then he didn't look too similar to the two (perhaps he was a hybrid of both?).

And then he looked at Arizona and New Mexico.

They were around when he controlled their territory. They were young, too young and too small for him to have any reason to deal with when he had his hands full of Texas and California.

But now that they were grown up (into teenagers at the very least), they easily resembled their previous nations.

Arizona was definitely Spain. Spain all the way through. From his bright green eyes to his scraggly, unkempt brown hair, he was Spain. Mexico had never seen Spain as a child, but he bet that the Italian would notice. Maybe that was why he was having so many nightmares about a child Spain-look-alike.

New Mexico was his, by looks and namesake. The brown eyes were hard to mix, as well as his rather skinny and bony face. And he was quite sure that if the boy was not lacking in the hormones department, he would have a similar mustache and goatee.

It would be so simple to play a prank on the Spaniard when he came over to visit. So simple if New Mexico lived in his house.

He inwardly sighed and turned to his last two previous states—and by far, the most rebellious. Texas and California.

The Texan now wore a hat, covering his messy dark brown locks, as well as hiding his blue eyes from the sun while he worked on his ranch. He still wore a pair of worn out boots, clearly stating his hobbies. And Mexico was surprised to see his brother actually look _decent_. He had on a nicely ironed shirt; it didn't matter if the shirt showed some remnants of dust. His jeans looked well worn, but were decidedly clean in his elder brother's eyes.

Now his little sister was a different matter entirely. He could tell the American had a hand in raising her the way she was now. She kept her long hair untied and flying in the wind—not a very clean look he thought. Her dress was definitely old and worn, like she had decided to wear it over and over until it tore. He couldn't even tell the dress used to be a deep blue color, now it was faded to the point of being almost white.

Yes, so much time had passed since he had seen them last.

When he had seen his younger brother and sister last, they seemed to be happy in each other's company. He saw them over the border once—Texas was teaching her how to ride a horse. She had been much too young to learn and he had been much too busy to teach her under his roof.

And another time—this time over at California's place—he had seen them walking on the beach (the only time he hadn't seen the Texan in his boots) together, hands clasped as the waves crashed on the shore.

Yes, he was quite certain this strange air was not present back then.

Back then, she would have fought anybody and everybody to sit next to her brother. But now? Now she had no qualms about taking a seat in between Nevada and Utah, _across_ from the Texan. Of course, it might also be because she had handcuffed him to her car.

No one would sit next to the Texan (except for Mexico); the seat to his left was left empty. Colorado took the seat next to that one, not bothered at all by the gap she had placed between them.

The talk continued, with the Texan being left out. Nevada and California started arguing about casinos. Arizona and New Mexico were comparing deserts. And Colorado and Utah were talking about the snow in their mountains at that time.

He tapped the desk, frowning as he glanced at all of their faces. They all looked uncomfortable—especially the Texan. He was surprised to see the large state try to _shrink_ himself into the background.

Texas had muttered something about his morning routine being interrupted by the obnoxious California, so apparently she still visited her brother. But it looked like she only came over to give him messages from the American.

Something had happened between the two. Something incredibly big and rather disastrous.

Not that he cared. He rather liked to see the Texan down.

And away from his sister, American or not. It pleased him—pleased him more than he expected it would.

The damn longhorn finally got what was coming.


	5. Author's Note: THE END

**And so that's the end of Mexico's POV (though I do admit at the last two chapters, it was mixed and split between Mexico and Texas). **

**I am planning on working on a memoirs story for Texas and California. Mexico is actually going to act like a helpful older brother! In the next story, the reason why everyone doesn't seem very comfortable around Texas will be explained (everyone should have an idea though if they studied history).**

**This whole story was amusing to me. I started working on it because I was curious about the Republic of California (it lasted less than a month, I thought it was only 9 days) and when the settlers called for independence from Mexico. **

**And you can't have the Californian Republic without Texas and the rest of the Mexican-American war. **

**But anyway. Thanks everyone for reading this week-long story. **

**And I was truly surprised when people started sending reviews about how they liked Texas and Cali's relationship. But in the end, it started another idea for me to work on, and that's my next project.**

**Thanks for reading!! :D**

-chanchi76


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